


House to Home

by Whatsastory



Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [9]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: First Apartment, M/M, wedding planner Mickey energy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatsastory/pseuds/Whatsastory
Summary: “Mick, those are literally both the same color. They’re yellow.”“The same col- are you kidding me? This one,” he says and thrusts the sample so close to Ian’s eyes that they cross a little, “is early afternoon yellow. And this one is late morning yellow. Two different fucking shades, man.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668712
Comments: 55
Kudos: 321





	House to Home

It’s a small apartment. Barely bigger than a studio with how cramped the bedroom is, but neither one of them are any stranger to being packed in like a sardine. Doesn’t hurt that the rent is next to nothing. 

So maybe the exterior is a little scary, and maybe more than one of their neighbors is a junkie. And okay, yeah, the heat doesn’t work so well and the water pressure sucks. And maybe, maybe the stain outside of their front door is blood (someone got brained, Firecrotch) (no they didn’t, asshole.. I hope). But it‘s theirs. All theirs. 

The best thing about getting your own space, Ian thinks, is the peace and quiet. It's also the strangest thing, but definitely the best. 

Ian's leaned up against the counter in their smaller than a Cracker Jack box kitchen, bowl of cereal in his hand, and he's reveling in the sound of absolutely nothing other than the soft rumble of cars passing by and birds chirping near of the few windows.

It's nice. 

And then the quiet is gone. 

"You showered yet?" Mickey asks and steps up near Ian, sniffs, and makes a face. "Shit, no. You haven't. Go. Wash." 

"What is happening?" Ian asks through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. It's too sweet, but it's Mickey's favorite, so he'll make small concessions. 

"Got shit to do. Gotta go buy the shit for the place." 

"What shit for what place?"

"Ian," Mickey sighs, exasperated like Ian is the dumbest motherfucker he's ever met. "You think this place is just gonna decorate itself? You gotta buy shit." 

"Buy shit? You wanna decorate the place?"

"Yes, Ian. Jesus Christ, keep up." 

"But we already have furniture...?" 

Ian looks around the place, and he's not at all upset with what they've already got. A couch with a coffee table in front of it. A small, but fully functional flat screen tv. A dining room table with two chairs. They've got a bed. They've got end tables. So... what else is there, really? 

"Did I say we need fucking furniture? No, I said it needs decorated. Like, uh, like pillows or whatever the fuck for the couch. Maybe... oh! Candles. Make sure the place don't smell like shit." 

"Candles?" 

"Ian, I swear to fucking god if you don't go get showered and dressed I'm gonna pound your face into god damn hamburger."

“How are we paying for this?” 

“I got it fucking covered! Fuck!” 

Apparently Mickey’s planned this day for a while, because he’s already gotten Debbie to lend her car and he has a plan for attack on which stores they’re going to shop at. First and foremost is a hardware store. 

“Which color?” Mickey asks. “This one, or this one?” He says and holds up two swatch samples. 

“Mick, those are literally both the same color. They’re yellow.”

“The same col- are you kidding me? This one,” he says and thrusts the sample so close to Ian’s eyes that he goes a little cross eyed, “is early afternoon yellow. And this one is late morning yellow. Two different fucking shades, man.” 

“I see no difference.” 

“Look again, then, with your colorblind ass!” 

“Pretty sure my ass would say they also look the same,” Ian deadpans, and Mickey’s face grows a little redder. 

“Fine! I’ll pick it my damn self!” He says, and reexamines each piece. 

Ian watches him as he looks between the two, over and over, holding them up to the sun, and then a wooden shelf, and then the fucking floor. 

“Planned a whole god damn wedding by myself. So sure, I’ll just decorate the whole place by my fucking self too,” he’s muttering as he goes. “Don’t get no help in this fucking house.” 

Ian stands back and lets him work, learned from the whole wedding chair debacle that when Mickey is like this, there’s no calming him down. He’d only make it worse by trying, so instead of calming him down, he tries to make a decision. 

“Y’know, Mick, now that I’m looking again, I think I actually like the, the morning one.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asks and fucking beams. 

“Yeah. It’s, uh, it’s a little... brighter?” 

“Yeah! You’re right. Knew you weren’t that fucking stupid. Let’s get some for the living room.” 

The next stop is some little local furniture store that also sells decor, because according to Mickey, going to a big box store would be like, “making a fucking cookie cutter god damn living room.” 

“I’m thinking blue pillows for the couch,” Mickey tells him. “So you find some. I want you to pick shit out, too.” 

Okay, easy enough. Ian’s not sure why he wants blue pillows to go with yellow walls, but he has a directive that he can follow. 

He picks up the first blue pillow he sees and holds it out proudly for Mickey to inspect... only Mickey doesn’t look pleased. His lips purse and his brows go hard and he takes a deep, steadying breath. 

“Ian, what are those?” 

“Uh...” Ian flounders. “Blue pillows?” 

“Uh huh. They’re dark blue pillows. In what fucking world does dark blue go with light yellow?! In what fucking world, Ian?!” 

“Jesus, I don’t know! Why don’t you just tell me what fucking color you want, the exact fucking color so that I don’t fuck this up?” 

“I shouldn’t have to tell you!” Mickey shrieks, gaining a few looks from the other shoppers. 

“Why the fuck do you care about shades of fucking pillows?!” Ian whisper yells back, and Mickey’s jaw drops. 

“Oh! Well excuse me for trying to create some god damn fung-suey for our apartment!” 

“Create what? You mean fengshui?” Ian asks with genuine confusion. 

“You’re a dead man!” 

“Gentleman, hello,” a nervous looking sales rep says and steps up near their heated argument. “Can I help you with anything today?” 

“Yeah,” Mickey says tersely, eyes never leaving Ian’s. “My husband doesn’t know fucking anything about fuck all, and he’s trying to get me to buy these dark ass pillows, which by the way, will completely ruin the fengfuckingshui of the apartment that I’m trying to fix up.” 

“Okay...” the man says, tugging at his collar. “Um, do you know what color you might be looking for?” 

“A blue to match this,” Mickey says and tugs the little paint sampler from his pocket- something Ian had no idea he’d even kept. 

“Oh, so you want like a robin’s egg blue- a pastel?” 

Mickey raises his eyebrows and gestures to the man, still glaring at Ian. 

“See, Ian? He fucking understands. Yes, a pastel, please. Thank you.”

Ian’s got four pastel blue pillows in his arms, hugged tight to him so that he doesn’t drop them, while Mickey looks around at their plants. This one won’t work because of this. And that one won’t work because of that. They all look the fucking same to Ian, but he’s seething a little bit, so he keeps his mouth fucking shut. They’ve already blown up at each other in this shitty little store, made asses out of themselves, but Mickey seems unperturbed, happily going about his business as he picks up each item to look at. 

“Look at this one,” Mickey snorts and picks up a cactus. “Kinda looks like a cock,” he says and holds it down by his crotch with a shit eating grin on his face. “We’re getting it.” 

In the end, they get the pillows, a throw blanket, a handful of candles that Ian personally thinks stink, but he’s not putting his two fucking cents in, some window dressings that match the pillows, the cocktus and two lamps that Mickey thinks will “help Ian lighten the fuck up.” 

What Ian hopes is the last stop is a crafting store. And if Mickey thinks that Ian is going to fucking craft... well, he probably will. But not because he wants to! It’s just so Mickey will stop being so fucking bitchy. 

“You stay here,” Mickey says as Ian’s hand goes for the door. 

“The fuck? Why?” 

“Because I said so, Howdy Doody. Chill, I’ll be right back.” And then he smiles and gives Ian a quick kiss before he’s bounding into the store looking very out of place. 

Mickey comes back out pretty quickly, with a massive (package...?) and puts it in the trunk. He gets in and starts the car without a word, and backs out of the space. 

“Where to now?” Ian asks and tries to keep his tone light. 

“Home. Think I got everything I needed.” 

Ian helps Mickey paint the living room the sunrise morning sunshine grass dew cool crisp air or whatever the fuck it is, two full coats, and he’s gotta agree that it does, in fact, look really nice, and he tells Mickey so. 

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees. “I like the way it catches the light.” 

The cocktus gets a spot on the coffee table. The lamps go on either side of the couch. The candles get scattered around, mostly in the bedroom (wink wink) and the pillows get fluffed on the couch along with the throw blanket. 

“Mickey. I really do love it,” Ian says quietly as he comes up behind Mickey and wraps his arms around his waist. Mickey stands facing his handy work, happy and content. 

“Didn’t even show you the best part yet,” Mickey says back and squeezes Ian’s clasped hands before he pulls himself away. 

He goes to the “package,” that he picked up from the craft store and hands it to Ian, lip nervously pulled in between his teeth. 

“This for me?” 

“Yeah, well. A wedding present... fuck ever, just open it.” 

Ian smiles brightly and rips into the brown paper that covers the gift, careful not to get too much on the floor. When it’s fully uncovered, he tilts his head to the side and lets the dopiest smile take over his face. 

In his hands is a blown up photo of their wedding day, the moment the two of them kissed to seal their union. It’s in a sturdy silver frame, really nice and heavy and expensive looking. 

“Mickey...” he says, voice thick and raw with emotion. 

“You like it? I thought maybe we could hang it behind the couch or some shit. When the paint dries, you know?” 

Ian gingerly sets the frame down, glass up, and puts his hands instead around Mickey. He hugs him tight to his chest and smiles when he feels Mickey tuck his face into the crook of his neck, just where he belongs. 

“I love it.”


End file.
